


Rock, Paper, Scissors

by xenascully



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-18
Updated: 2011-04-18
Packaged: 2018-01-18 02:37:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1411852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xenascully/pseuds/xenascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam should've known Dean would pick scissors. He always picks scissors... TAG to My Heart Will Go On.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dean thinks about it, after a while...the fact that he'd finally won at rock, paper, scissors. "Always with the scissors!" Sam had said, a long time ago. He was right, of course. He did always pick scissors. He picked them that time, too. Sam picked paper...though, he almost always picked rock.

It's wasn't that Dean didn't anticipate this... It was just instinct to pick the shiny, metal, pointy weapon. There wasn't supposed to be any thought process for rock, paper, scissors. It's freakin' rock, paper, scissors! He liked to save thinking for more important things, like when the time came, whether to pick the blonde or the brunette standing at the bar.

The same should've gone for Sam. Not the blonde or brunette thing; the 'not having to think' thing, when it was rock, paper, scissors time. Why would he have to? Dean always picked scissors! Yet, Sam had picked paper. He didn't know why it bothered him so much. He'd won, for cryin' out loud. Of course, it was all for nothing, since Sam didn't even get the chance to talk to Bobby...

"So, I get immunity, next game, ya know, right?" Dean glanced at Sam, who'd been sitting silently in the passenger seat as Dean drove them down the long stretch of empty highway.

Sam scrunched up his eyebrows, looking over at Dean in confusion, "What?"

"I won rock, paper, scissors," he reminded him, "And you didn't do what you were supposed to, when you lost. That means I've got, like, a credit, or somethin'." He glanced at Sam, again, who gave a small nod, but looked not much less confused than he had before the explanation. "How, exactly, did you lose, by the way?"

"Huh?" Sam glanced over, again. "Oh...uh..."

"You never lose that game, Sammy."

"I must lose sometimes, if that's always what we play to decide on things..."

"No. You don't lose," Dean's brows pinched together. "Not since you were, like, still a chubby little kid."

"Then why do we even play it?" Sam cocked his head. Dean looked over at him, again, before training his eyes back on the road. He didn't reply. "I don't remember that," Sam told him, after a few silent moments.

"What?"

"I don't remember winning."

Dean shot him an incredulous look, eyes widening slightly, thinking he must be joking. But the look on Sam's face told him that he was being serious. Dean's face morphed into something more akin to concern, than shock. "Are you kidding me?"

Sam shook his head, "No. Should I remember that?" he met his eyes with a look of, possibly, fear.

"I should think so! I mean, I remember losin', and although winning at rock, paper, scissors doesn't really rank up there on the scale of importance, it's not exactly somethin' you shouldn't recall winning every single time since you were a kid!"

"Are you seriously pissed at me for not remembering this?" Sam looked at him, incredulously.

"I'm not pissed," Dean retorted. "Just freakin' out, a little, here, is all. You usually remember every damn thing..."

The car grew quiet, inside. Truth be told, Sam was a little freaked about it, as well. The more he thought about that day at Bobby's, when they played the game, the more he realized that he'd pulled his hand out of his pocket instinctively to Dean's proposed method of ending the debate. He'd known what game they were going to play, but he honestly didn't recall any specific outcome for any previous rounds they'd had. It was there, somewhere...he could tell. Like the name on the tip of your tongue...

"You really aren't shittin' me, are you?" Dean's voice was considerably more calm. "You really don't remember?"

"I'm trying," Sam replied, seeming to wander off into deep thought. The car grew quiet a second time. It was several minutes before Sam let out a frustrated sigh, "I don't understand why I would just forget something like that."

"Glad we're on the same page."

"Well, why do you think I would forget?" Sam looked over at him. "I mean, this is different than trying to remember what you had for breakfast a couple of weeks back on a Wednesday. This is something you say happens every time. I should remember from repetition, alone."

"You're sure you're not just bein' a sore loser?" Dean smirked.

"Dean," an unamused look graced his features.

"I don't know, Sam," he replied, more seriously. "It doesn't make any sense." He watched Sam's head drop a bit from the corner of his eye. Sam was looking, absently, down at the seat between them. "You forget anything else?"

"How am I even supposed to answer that?" Sam looked even more panicked, now, as he shot his gaze back to his brother.

"Guess you're right..."

"Why would you say that, Dean? How...what if I forgot something really important? Like...how to fire a shotgun?"

"Did you forget how to fire a shotgun?" he asked with raised brows.

"No!"

"Then you're fine."

"Dean!"

"Sammy, you're fine, okay? Maybe we just need a little time off; get our heads on straight." He glanced at Sam before looking, as calmly as possible, back to the road again. "It's just a few more miles till we get to the next town. We'll get a room, pick up a six-pack, watch some porn...ya know, relax," he shot him a toothy grin.

Sam tried to manage a smile, though his brows danced a bit in conflicted confused. He eventually nodded, and turned his gaze down to his floorboard.

The silence was killing Dean, but he wasn't in the mood to turn on the stereo. In fact, he hadn't even had the thought cross his mind to do so. He was too busy thinking, and thinking lead to nothing good, in Dean's experience.

A full, slow-motioned minute passed in completely dead silence, aside from the life of the Impala's loyal engine. Sam's pensive, almost pained-looking face, accompanied the silence in an eery handshake. Dean couldn't take the quiet any damn more. "You hungry?" he asked, just to break it. "I'm stoppin' for beer anyway. Might as well pick you up a salad, Samantha," he shot him a smug grin.

"Shut up, jerk," Sam huffed, yet it came out with a vague smile.

"Bitch," Dean pitched back, feeling a little better. "If you want somethin' else, just tell me."

"I'm actually not even that hungry," Sam admitted.

"Maybe you will be, once we get there."

"I guess... Hey, you think we could-" the sentence ended, abruptly, and Dean glanced over at his brother, who had suddenly begun flailing...seizing...right there beside him in his seat...

"Sam?" his voice croaked and his hand shot out to grip his younger brother's arm. It took him a moment, actually, to come to the realization that Sam wasn't just messing with him. "Sammy!"


	2. Chapter 2

Dean gripped the steering wheel, hard, as he jerked the Impala to the side of the road and came to a screeching, crunching stop in the gravel. "Sammy!" he threw the car into park and realized he couldn't do much to help his brother from where he sat. He was out the door and around to the passenger side in just seconds.

He opened the door and reached around Sam's shaking body to unbuckle his seat belt, then carefully pulled him out, intending to gently lay him down onto the ground. But a particularly violent spasm sent the both of them down; Dean landing on his ass in the gravel, clutching his younger brother's upper body, protectively, against his chest, until he collected his bearings.

Sam only shook for a few more moments, before his body went still. Dean pulled his own legs in, so he was sitting Indian-style, before allowing Sam's limp body settle onto it's back. He held the back of Sam's head in his hand so it wouldn't fall back, and with his other hand he brushed the brown locks away from where they'd fallen into Sam's face.

"Sam?" his voice cracked, and he didn't care. Sam looked like he was just sleeping. Just like he looked the last time something like this happened... "Please let him wake up, like last time..." Dean thought. "Sammy, c'mon," he gently shook him by the shoulder. "God...what if this is exactly what it looks like? What if Sam scratched the wall again? I don't get it... What the hell does rock, paper, scissors have to do with freakin' Hell?"

It seemed like hours, sitting there with Death's and Castiel's words running through his head, while Sam remained unconscious. Thoughts of wondering whether or not Sam would even wake up; if he'd become the drooling mess that they'd known was a possibility, if the wall ever came down. The fact that it was over something this trivial...pulled at Dean's heart in a way he couldn't even comprehend. He was supposed to protect Sam. He thought keeping him away from the places Robo-Sam had been, would keep him from scratching that wall, and here he'd basically ignited the damn thing by telling Sam to try and remember a stupid game they've always played...

Dean found himself going over what he'd do if Sam didn't make it through this. Those ponderings were morbid, of course. Not just for Sam... Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered if Death would be able to make another damn support wall...

Sam's deep intake of breath pulled him out of his thoughts, and he looked down at the younger brother's face, as he became aware of his surroundings. "Sammy, you with me?" he cupped the side of Sam's neck.

Sam met his eyes, and for a frightening few moments, he didn't respond. Dean's heart began to sink in his chest. But then Sam blinked a few times, "Why did that happen?" he asked in a child-like voice.

"Not sure," Dean replied, concern written clearly on his face. "Was it the same as last time?" he asked in a smaller voice.

Sam nodded, swallowing, before he said, "Sort of...but different, still..."

Dean didn't want to question that further. He was pretty sure he knew what he was saying. "You feel okay? Can you get up?"

Sam nodded again, and moved to get up with Dean's assistance. He glanced around, realizing they were on the side of the road. Dean guided him back to the car, without resistance, and closed the door. Sam buckled as Dean walked around and got in on his side.

"Mind if we skip stopping for beer?" Sam asked. "I'm really tired."

"Yeah, sure, Sam. I'll order us somethin' when we get to the room."

11 00 11 00 11

Sam had passed out mere minutes after falling into his bed at the motel. Dean had ordered a pizza, waited just over half an hour for it to get there, and tried to make enough noise to wake Sam up to eat. But Sam kept right on sleeping.

After getting through half of the pizza, he closed up the box and stuffed it into the fridge in the kitchenette. It was back to being silent.

Dean hated the silence.

He picked up his phone and called Bobby. After explaining what'd happened, Bobby didn't really have any answers. But, then again, Dean hadn't really expected him to. He just needed to talk to someone about it, and talking to Sam seemed almost dangerous, now.

After hanging up with Bobby, Dean was back to silence. He sighed and ran a hand down his face, before picking up the TV remote and clicking 'power'. After about ten minutes of endless channel-surfing, he concluded that daytime TV still sucked. Not even Dr. Sexy was on, at this time of day. He wasn't really in the mood for Busty Asian Beauties 3.

He tossed the remote in the middle of the bed, and it bounced, almost comedic in fashion, right off the foot of the mattress and crashed to the floor. Dean grimaced and glanced over at Sam, who didn't so much as flinch.

Truth be told, he kinda wished Sam would wake up.

He sighed again. He wanted answers. It didn't make sense that Sam would get yet another face full of Hell, when they hadn't been wandering into red-flag territory. Things just weren't adding up. So, he did the only other thing he could think of. It was a long-shot, but he had to try.

"Castiel," he said aloud, "I know you're kinda busy up there, but if you get a minute, I need your input, here. It's about Sam. Something's wrong..."


	3. Chapter 3

"Dean," the resonant voice of the angel spoke from where he'd suddenly appeared beside the older Winchester.

"Cas!" he loudly whispered, startled by his sudden appearance. "You came!"

Castiel narrowed his eyes and his brows pinched, slightly, "Did you not just request my presence?"

"Well, yeah," Dean replied, cocking his head a bit as he shrugged, "But I honestly didn't expect you so soon."

"I don't have much time. But it was the most opportune moment to sneak away. That, and the sound of desperation in your voice told me that you might be in some trouble. What is it that you need?"

"It's Sam," Dean glanced at his still sleeping brother over on the other bed. "I think there might be something wrong with the wall," worried eyes met the pensive ones of the angel who stood before him, now.

"How so?"

Dean stood from his bed and led Castiel toward the kitchenette, before he spoke again, "His memory is a little off." Castiel cocked his head, needing more information. "He forgot about a game we've played all our lives, Cas, and I know it sounds stupid and insignificant. But after trying his best to recall the information, he shut down again; seized like the last time he got a face full of Hell. It's the wall, Cas; I can tell." The worry on Dean's face didn't go unnoticed by his omnipresent friend.

"What is this game you're referring to?"

"Is it important?"

"It could be."

"It's just somethin' we've always played...somethin' that helps us determine who does a job neither of us wanna do. It's not a board game or anything; just a five-second game..."

"Is there anything else he's forgotten?"

"There's no way to know that, right now," Dean sighed, realizing that that had been a stupid question to ask Sam, earlier.

Castiel's gaze wandered around in the air beside Dean as he contemplated. A twinge of guilt seemed to flash his features. He had an idea of what this might be, and why. But he couldn't be certain. "I... Is this a recent development?" he asked as he met Dean's eyes again. "By that, I mean, was there an incident such as this before this past week?"

"You mean with his wall?" Dean raised his brows.

"With the game, Dean."

"Never." Castiel looked away, then down at the floor, before briefly closing his eyes. "Cas, do you have any idea...?"

The angel met Dean's eye, briefly, before they darted away again, "I...will do some digging for you," he stalled. "I'll let you know what I discover."

And with that, he was gone, leaving Dean alone again...in silence. "Thanks, Cas," he whispered with a sigh, and headed back to his bed.

11 00 11 00 11

When Sam woke, he found a note on the bedside table beside him, from Dean.

Went to get beer. Pizza in the fridge.

-D

He glanced toward the closed curtains and could tell it was starting to get dark. Or starting to get light...he wasn't sure how long he'd been sleeping. But that didn't really matter, because he was suddenly starving.

When Dean got back to the room, Sam was halfway through the remaining pizza; box open on the bed as Sam flipped through channels on the TV. "You're up," Dean stated the obvious as he locked the door behind him and moved to set the six-pack on the table. "How're ya feelin'?"

"Like I've been sleeping all day," Sam smirked as he threw his crust back into the box. "Can I get one of those?" he motioned toward the beer.

Dean broke one out of its rings and tossed it to his younger brother. "You have been sleepin' all day," he told him as he broke another can out for himself, then made his way to sit on his own bed, facing Sam. "Better part of it, anyway." They were silent for a few minutes, looking at the TV as they drank. Sam picked up another slice of pizza and began eating it. "Cas is looking into this," Dean spoke before taking another sip of his beer.

Sam looked away from the screen and over at his brother, with raised brows, "What?"

"Cas is looking into this whole...thing that happened to you today," Dean clarified.

"You called Castiel?"

"I was bored," he shrugged.

"You were worried about me," Sam cocked his head, a slight smirk playing on his lips.

"'Course I was worried," he grunted as he pushed up off of the bed and walked back over to the table. "It's one thing to keep you off certain jobs. But something like this? I dunno what's safe to even talk to you about, anymore, Sam..." he sank down into the chair beside the table.

Sam felt himself nod, set a bit uneasy by Dean's words, but understanding. He tossed the half-eaten slice back into the box, no longer hungry. "So...he thinks he might be able to figure out why that happened?"

"I dunno," Dean sighed. "He said he'd do some digging. On the bright side, he's not back yet. Usually, if there's nothin' to find, he's back pretty fast."

Sam nodded again, then stood and closed the pizza box, picked it up, and brought it back to the fridge before returning back to flop down onto the bed. "So, what do we do until then?"

"Nothin'," Dean replied, casually. Sam looked at him with a quirked brow. "This is the perfect opportunity for neither of us to do any thinkin', Sammy," he smirked. "In fact, I think, right now, it's kind of imperative. So," he stood and made his way back to his bed and flopped down on his back, "We watch hours upon hours of whatever crap TV we can, until Cas gets back here." He propped his feet up and got comfortable.

"Can I get on my laptop, instead?"

"Nope. That's research. Research is thinking."

"You're serious about this?"

"As a heart attack, Sammy," he said as he grabbed the remote and changed the channel. "So get comfortable. Oh, look! A Spongebob marathon! Perfect," he grinned before setting down the remote.

Sam glared at his brother a few more moments, before giving in, settling back against the headboard, and occupying his mind with the nonsense that splayed over the TV screen...


	4. Chapter 4

"Go ahead and tell them it's my fault, if you wish," Belthazar told Castiel, as they stood a little ways away from the motel, where he'd been summoned. "I don't give a flight what the little twits think of me, anyhow."

"That isn't true," Castiel replied.

"Well, it's true enough. Anyway, I don't mind. They already believe it was me who changed the time-line. That was my own doing." Castiel looked away from the other angel, at the comment. "Well, I'll be off. You know where to find me." With that, the angel was gone, leaving Castiel alone.

He looked up at the spot where Belthazar had been standing, and thought for a moment. Squaring his shoulders, he came to a decision, then willed himself into the Winchesters' room...

*~.~*

Sam was restless, where he sat back against the headboard. Trying not to think of anything but the stupid creatures on the screen, was a lot harder than Dean made it out to be. All he could think about, was trying not to think. While that thought kept him from delving into anything specific, it didn't make it any less stressful.

His periodic glances to his older brother, proved that it wasn't so easy for Dean, either. Anyone else that might look at the man, might be fooled into believing that his mind was on the program in front of them. But Sam knew his brother; knew that his thoughts were far from the dancing sponge and his idiotic starfish buddy, who chased jellyfish around with butterfly nets.

Sam and Dean were so preoccupied with not thinking, that they missed the fluttering sound that announced the arrival of Castiel. The angel stood, quietly; patiently, waiting for them to take notice of his arrival. He became distracted by the strange show on the screen.

"Is it not disturbing to you, that the crab is serving up his own kind for profit?" Castiel's voice caused them to jump and turn to face him.

"Damnit, Cas!" Dean half-shouted, holding a hand to his chest, where his heart pounded. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Only a minute or so," he replied, calmly.

"Did you find anything?" Sam inquired as Dean turned off the TV.

Castiel briefly met Sam's eyes, before averting them, and moved to slowly sit down in one of the chairs at the table. "It is...as I feared might happen," he told them.

"What the hell does that mean?" Dean pushed up off the bed and moved toward the table.

The angel looked up at Dean as he approached. "I should have taken this into consideration, beforehand," he told him. "The change in the time-line..."

"But you fixed that," Dean narrowed his eyes.

"Yes. And that's precisely why things have become slightly...rearranged."

"Rearranged? What kind of rearranged?" Dean asked as he sat down on the edge of Sam's bed, closer to Castiel.

"When putting the time-line back into its rightful place," the angel explained, "Allowing you to keep both sets of memories may have caused a slight...shift in the placement of Sam's wall."

"What?" Dean's eyes widened.

"Shift?" Sam almost squeaked from where he sat. "What does that mean for me? Does this mean the wall is weaker now?"

"No," Cas shook his head, "Not necessarily. Only that it seems to have relocated, the smallest fraction of space imaginable. Luck would have it that it didn't move in the wrong direction."

"It sure as hell didn't look like the right direction, to me," Dean grunted.

"What I mean to say is," he clarified, "It's better that it moved where it did, as opposed to a place somewhere amidst his experience in Hell."

"And how, exactly, can we be sure that it didn't?" Dean inquired.

Castiel narrowed his eyes at Dean before replying, "Sam would know." Both of them slowly turned their gaze to the younger Winchester.

Sam raised his brows, knowing that they were looking for some kind of confirmation from him. "Guys...what do you want me to say?"

"That you're not preoccupied with memories of Hell, for starters," Dean replied.

"I'm not," he clarified.

"But you could've been," Dean said before turning back to Castiel. "He could've been half-way to vegi-land; is that what you're tellin' us, Cas?"

"The outcome wouldn't be good," the angel agreed.

"That sonofabitch Belthazar," he hissed as he pushed up to stand, and began pacing. "Of all the irresponsible-"

"It's not his fault," Castiel interrupted, his eyes suddenly fixed to the floor.

Both brothers fixed a questioning gaze on the angel. "What the hell do you mean, 'it's not his fault'?"

"He's the idiot who changed the time-line," Sam added. "You had to fix it..."

"He was under orders," the angel admitted, ashamedly.

Dean moved to take a seat in the other chair at the table, not taking his eyes off of the pensive being before him. Sam moved across the bed, relocating to where Dean had been before.

"Cas?" Sam's concerned voice pulled the angel's gaze up to meet his. What both brothers saw in them, was something they were fairly certain they'd never seen before; guilt, shame, regret... Sam's face grew slack with understanding. "It was you," he surmised. "You gave him the order..."


	5. Chapter 5

"You don't understand," Castiel retorted, weakly; his gaze falling back to the floor. "The war in Heaven...without the souls we should have acquired during the Apocalypse, before you stopped it, has driven to our wit's end. It was the only thing I could think of that would make a difference; though small, a difference, nonetheless."

"So that 'I wanted you to meet Fate' line was a load of crap?" Dean grunted.

"No," he met his eyes. "Understanding Fate was a side-trip that became necessary, once I realized that my decision was flawed. I understood the possibility that Sam's wall might be affected, if we changed the time-line again. But at the time, I'd had no intention of changing it back. For that," he turned to the younger brother, "I am truly sorry, Sam."

Sam should've been angry. He felt like he should be, anyway. But the honesty and regret he saw in the angel's eyes, prevented him from getting to that point. Castiel had done what he thought had to be done; what he thought was best. Though it hadn't really been thought through on all angles, his intentions had been good. Not to mention, he'd reversed the already insane idea and gave up on a plan that would've actually probably worked, in order to spare him and Dean the suffering that would've come, had he left the time-line the way they'd changed it.

Sam knew how it felt to have thought you were doing something good; to have gone against all his better judgment under the stipulation that no matter what awful things he had to do, it was for the greater good...and then have been completely and utterly wrong; having hurt the people you love, the most.

The look in Castiel's eyes made him remember that feeling. That longing that he could go back and take back what he'd done, had he only known what he knew now. It was a terrible feeling. He found it difficult to be upset with him; that feeling was punishment enough.

"How do we fix it?" Dean asked before Sam could reply.

Castiel looked up at him with furrowed brows, "It would be...unwise to attempt, and most likely impossible-"

"Well, shouldn't we at least try?" Dean interrupted.

"It would be dangerous," the angel continued, "Not only for you, but especially for Sam. The wall was moved within the bounds of time; not by means of man or power. If you were to try and manipulate it in any way, it would be worse than 'scratching' it. You could end up destroying it, altogether."

Dean ran a frustrated hand through his hair and turned, slightly, away from the other two. "So we're just supposed to let this be how it is?" he asked, a few moments later. "Just...assume there's nothin' else on the wrong side of the wall, that could trigger another episode?"

Castiel cocked his head a bit, looking from Dean, to Sam, "I would suggest no longer playing this...game that you mentioned, anymore. It's my understanding that Sam usually wins, anyway. Perhaps whenever you feel you'd normally use it in one of your decisions, then you should simply go with Sam's plan." Dean gave the angel an incredulous look. "It would have inevitably turned in that direction, anyway," Castiel defended.

Dean looked at Sam, who had a slight smile on his face as he met his brother's eyes. "Yeah, I'm sure you're just eatin' this up, aren't you," Dean shook his head, though slightly amused by Sam's seemingly more relaxed stature.

Sam shrugged, "It's not the most ideal situation. But it could've been a lot worse," he raised his brows.

"It could be a lot worse, Sam!" Dean retorted. "We've got no idea what else might set you off."

"I'm not the Incredible Hulk, Dean," he let out a small laugh. "I'm not being 'set off'. We just need to be more aware of when there's something you think I should know, that I've forgotten, and make sure I don't try and force myself to remember. That's all..."

"You make it sound so simple," Dean retorted, sarcastically.

"Sam is right," Castiel chimed in. "As long as he's unaware that it's something he should remember, he won't try to think about it. That should be enough to keep him from scratching at the wall. In this case, rather, unknowingly scratching at the wall."

"I get that part, Cas," Dean plopped back down in the chair. "What I'm concerned about is what he's forgotten. What if it's something important?" his brows furrowed, worriedly. "I mean, what if there's a moment where a last-minute decision pops up, and he just doesn't have a damn clue, because the logical answer is on the other side of that wall?"

Sam ingested what his brother had asked the angel, then turned, looking at Castiel for an answer he wasn't sure he had.

Castiel was considering the question, when suddenly, his gaze shifted somewhere behind them, at nothing in particular. "I must go," he told them, standing from the chair. "I'm needed. I will inquire about this dilemma, I promise you. I owe you both that much," he promised.

With that, he was gone; leaving the brothers alone once more...


	6. Chapter 6

"Please! Please stop this!" Sam cried out from within the entrapment of his own mind, as he felt his fists continuously collide with his brother's battered face. But Lucifer ignored his pleas, taking great pleasure in turning Dean's face into mush.

"Sam, it's okay..." Dean told him. "It's okay; I'm here..." Why was he trying to comfort him? It was Sam's fault this was happening...not his.

Lucifer hit him again. Sam yelled out, again, "Leave him alone! Stop it! You're killing him!"

"I'm here...I'm not gonna leave you... I'm not gonna leave you..."

"Sam!" he heard his brother call out for him; felt his shoulders being shaken. "Sammy, wake up!"

He forced himself to open his eyes, seeing Dean hovering over him in the dimly lit room. He still couldn't move.

"Sam?" Dean's face was washed with worry, and Sam longed to make that go away... "Sammy, breathe!" He realized, then, the desperate need for an intake of air, and followed his brother's instructions, sucking in a breath.

Then, suddenly, he realized it had all been a dream; a memory... He pushed himself up, throwing his arms around Dean and holding onto him as if it were the only thing reminding him that all of that was over.

Dean had been pulled from his own sleep by his brother's screams, and it had terrified him. Seeing Sam's entire body stiff as a board, hands fisting the sheets beneath him in the throes of the nightmare, made him think that he might've unintentionally scratched at the wall again. He wasn't sure what he'd dreamt about, but he couldn't sit by and let him stay in that torture any longer.

When Sam wrapped his arms around him, clinging to the back of his shirt like he had as a child, in incidents of night-terrors, he couldn't respond with anything less than what he'd done back then. He put his arms around the younger, yet slightly heavier, now, man, and supported him. Sam's face was even buried in Dean's shoulder, like he'd done as a child, and his body trembled against his will.

"Sammy? Sam, it's okay," he soothed. "I'm here..."

Sam couldn't hold back the sound of a choked sob as he squeezed tighter to his brother at those words...the very words he'd said to him in that field. "D'n..."

"It was just a dream, Sam..."

"No," he felt him shake his head. "No, it wasn't," he pulled away and scooted back to sit against the headboard, pulling his legs up against his chest. "It was a memory," watery eyes met Dean's.

Dean hated to see his brother cry. It nearly broke his heart, every time. "Aren't they all?" he said with the slightest hint of a smile. Sam's eyes shifted for a moment, absorbing the morbid truth of the statement. "You're not supposed to be thinkin', Sam, remember? No scratchin' the wall."

"I wasn't...how can I control what I dream, Dean?" he asked, incredulously. "Besides, that wasn't it... It was right before I jumped into the pit," he revealed in a low voice. Dean remembered that, all too well. "I couldn't stop him..."

"You did stop him," Dean refreshed his memory.

"Not before he nearly killed you...using my fist," Sam retorted.

If only you knew, Sammy. If only you knew how that had been the plan, all along. When I said I wasn't gonna let you die alone, I didn't mean that I was just gonna be there. If you were gonna die, I wanted you to take me down with you...

"But you did stop him," Dean continued. "And Cas came back, patched me up good as new." Sam looked away, somewhere down at the bedspread, seeming unconvinced. "You think I give a crap about that, Sam?" he took to a different tactic, causing Sam to meet his eyes again. "You think I blame you, even for a minute, what he did? What happened, happened for a reason. Hell, if he hadn't been beatin' the bejesus outta my face, you wouldn't have had the chance to take over. I'd be dead...we all would be."

Sam's eyes darted around as he contemplated what Dean had told him. But his thoughts were interrupted when an alarm sounded from his brother's cell phone on the nightstand. Dean grabbed it and muted the sound as he looked at the screen. A grin broke out on his face as he looked back at Sam.

"Know what today is?" he asked. Sam narrowed his eyes in thought, before shaking his head. "It's your birthday, Sammy! We can do anything you want, today," he said, excitedly, as he stood and made his way toward the bathroom. "Even if it's goin' to the library and buryin' your nose in books all day... I'll be right there with ya, pretending to be excited," he winked before disappearing into the bathroom.

Dean did this every year, since Sam was old enough to remember. It was 24 hours of Sam's choice, no matter what. Which made the other 364 days of the year Dean's... so I guess this made up for it a little.

Dean always managed to do surprisingly well for Sam's day. Sometimes Sam thought Dean might be even more thrilled than he was about it. It didn't really make all that much sense, honestly, since Dean liked to be the boss most of the time. But Sam figured, like always, Dean was happy to be able to do something that made Sam happy, without the possibility of it being claimed as a chick-flick moment.

"I don't suppose you wanna head to the bar, do ya?" Dean called out after flushing the toilet.

"Dean, it's like six in the morning."

"It's five PM somewhere," he grinned as he came out of the bathroom, drying his hands on a white towel.

"Yeah, well...it's my birthday," Sam retorted. "And the first thing I wanna do is go back to sleep."

"Party pooper," he replied.

Sam smirked as he moved to lay back down. "Hey, Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"You stayin' up?" he asked.

Dean looked over at him, seeing the sudden anxiety in his eyes. To wake you up if you have bad dreams again? 'Course, Sammy... "Yep. Can't get back to sleep now anyway," he gave a slight smirk before moving around to the other side of Sam's bed, climbing in and propping back against the headboard; remote in hand.

Sam didn't question the action. It was something Dean had done when they were younger, whenever Sam had nightmares. He wouldn't admit to it (and he didn't have to), but he felt safer with him there. Dean never needed to wake him up, when he was there beside him, because his presence kept the nightmares away.

Sam turned onto his side, facing away from his brother, and allowed his eyes to close again, as Dean turned on the TV, keeping the volume low enough to not bother his younger brother...


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter was written by my very dear fanfic friend, Bunny, from Sparkiebunny. I'm so absolutely grateful that she could do this for me, as I've simply not been able to bring myself to write for the past couple of weeks.

Sam sat up, stretching his limbs. Dreamless sleep had accompanied Dean's presence, for which Sam was beyond grateful. He'd finally been able to sleep off a fraction of the exhaustion wearing him down, and felt amazing to wake up actually ready for the day. Hell, invigorated even.

Dean was bubbling with energy, a fact which Sam found remarkable considering the man couldn't have gotten more than a few hours of sleep. He'd been awake when Sam had drifted off, and if history was any indication, the elder sibling hadn't slept soon after that. If at all.

But the darkened lids did nothing to overshadow the playful glint in Dean's light hazel orbs.

"So, Sammy?" Dean asked. "We're burning daylight here. What do you want to do?"

"I don't know, man…" Sam trailed off noncommittally. But Dean knew his brother, and if one thing was for certain, Sam did know. He had an idea in his head and whether he liked it or not, Sam was going to spill.

"Come on now, bro, I already said it. Your birthday, your choice. Anything you want, Sam." He paused and shot his brother a meaningful look. "Anything."

"Well," Sam started. Dean didn't miss the insecure hesitation in his brother's voice, or the way Sam was sitting right next to him, yet looked a million miles away.

And in the confines of his own memories—incomplete as they may be—Sam was. Because he couldn't remember a lot of things. Not torture, not hell. Not Samuel, not hunting.

He couldn't remember killing any of the countless people who'd somehow ended up dead in the year of his soullessness.

He couldn't remember a lot of things. And truth be told, he wasn't sure he wanted to.

But Sam remembered this…this one memory, this one moment, years and years ago.

A fence.

A lake.

Two beers.

Two brothers.

"The Grand Canyon," Sam said. His eyes shifted up to his brother's, and the mossy hazel practically sighed. Then, his voice became more resolute. "I want to go to the Grand Canyon."

Dean's face pinched in momentary confusion before slackening and staring blankly at his brother.

"Sammy…" he began.

Sam held up a hand, successfully silencing his older brother. "You asked what I wanted to do. This is what I want."

Dean opened his mouth, unwilling to ease off just yet.

But Sam interrupted swiftly with a small smile and shake of his head.

"No questions. No chick-flick moments. Just you, me, the Impala, and the Grand freakin' Canyon."

There was a short pause as Dean examined his brother. He saw the decisive gleam in Sam's eyes. It was the same damn look he'd seen since before the kid was even old enough to talk.

And just like that, Dean was taken back to that day, so many years ago. When he thought things couldn't get more difficult, more complicated.

If only I'd known…

But the past was past, and if Dean was to take his own advice, it was better left that way.

"The Grand freakin' Canyon, huh?" He breathed a light laugh.

Sam nodded. "The Grand freakin' Canyon."

Then that's where we'll go, Sammy…that's where we'll go.

Dean snagged Sam's jacket and tossed it to him. "Well, it's a good 4-hour drive, so let's get a move on, bitch."

Sam caught it with a smile, and didn't have to say a word.

11 00 11 00 11

"What is there to do at the Grand Canyon, anyway?" Dean asked, glancing over at his brother in the passenger seat. Zeppelin was playing lightly in the background.

Sam shrugged. "Nothing. That's the beauty of it."

"So you just…look at it?" Dean asked skeptically.

A smile broke out on Sam's face. "Exactly."

11 00 11 00 11

"Well, we finally made it, Sammy." Dean sighed, a deep release of air full of weight and thought and life.

The two were leaning against a narrow rail, right beside the edge of the Canyon, close enough that Dean was sure they could glide right in if they wanted to. The pure immensity of it took their breath away. The Canyon stretched beyond their eyesight, ducking and curving, rising and steepening. It went for miles and miles, never stopping, just growing and expanding with brilliant constancy. The brothers were spellbound. It was like the moment in a child's life when they realized the world was bigger than they could ever have imagined.

Their eyes were fixed on the intense chasm, the vibrant sunset, and the unfamiliar sense of fulfillment burning within them.

"We did," Sam replied distantly. "We finally did."

Dean tore his eyes away from the radiant sky to look at his brother.

Sam was absolutely transfixed, and something about it made Dean's heart clench. The mossy hazel was wide and gazing; his mouth parted slightly in awe. The stress and guilt and frown lines were smoothed out as if an iron had steamed it all out, leaving a blank slate. An innocent slate. It was as if the kid was twelve again, staring at bright explosions in the sky, savoring the simplest of moments with his big brother.

That was back before their dad had died. Before anyone had gone to hell. Before Dean had to stand next to that damn lake and tell his brother he might have to kill him. It was before things got hard and complicated, and their family was stripped down to the core.

That was back when fireworks were gold and family was infallible.

Things had changed.

Dean smiled softly at the look of absolute wonder on Sam's face.

Then again, some things hadn't.

Sam looked as if he could stand there for hours, just staring at the vast expanse. They probably would. Not moving or even talking. Just absorbing the enormity of their surroundings with no time constraints or ulterior motives. For once, they could just let go, relax, and enjoy the world they'd helped to save.

They would probably stay for hours, just staring.

And Dean found that he didn't mind one bit.

11 00 11 00 11

Sam and Dean dragged themselves forward, pounding out each step on the gravelly pavement. They'd left the Grand freakin' Canyon as soon as the sun went down, driving straight through the night. They were now a few blocks from the hotel, thoroughly spent.

It was dark all around, except for the dull glow of the streetlights and the incandescent moon and stars in the distance. The two were exhausted, in the best possible way. Their walking was less walking, more stumbling forward with slight dexterity…Emphasis on slight.

"Ready to head back to the motel?" Dean asked his brother. He smirked at Sam's uncoordinated movements. The kid looked like he was on a bender, all jerky steps and goofy grins.

He loved it.

"Yeah," Sam replied. "M'tired."

"Tell me about it." Dean slid his hand around the crook of Sam's elbow and guided him forward. "Let's take a shortcut through here."

They turned into a narrow alley, Dean still nudging his brother forward and dragging him along.

"Dean," Sam said soberly. He stopped in his tracks and locked eyes intensely with his brother. There was a thin layer of moisture coating the mossy hazel, which would've gone unnoticed by most people.

But Dean wasn't most people.

He saw the unshed tears in Sam's eyes, and gazed back worriedly.

"You ok, bro?"

There was a short pause which felt like a long one, followed by a simple response which felt so much more complex.

"Thank you, Dean. This day…" he gestured weakly, "…it was perfect."

Though the words were nothing spectacular or particularly eloquent, they meant so much more. They represented an accumulation of pain and hardship from that day on the lake to the very moment they were experiencing. Death and shadows had followed them for years, and the load which they bore every day gained weight with each affliction, gained power with each heartbreak.

But these words…they acknowledged all that and eradicated it in the same moment. They addressed the pain and treated it. They extracted the tears and dried them. These words molded the past with the present, cramming together everything in-between.

More than anything, these words made it all okay. For the first time in over four years, everything was okay.

"Yeah, Sammy, it was." To his own surprise, a smile graced Dean's lips. To no surprise whatsoever, Sam followed suit. "Now come on, before you fall over. If you're gonna face-plant, pretty much anywhere is preferable to this shit-hole." He wrinkled his nose to emphasize the point.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy?"

Sam stifled a laugh. "I'm pretty sure you're standing in piss."

Touché.

"Shut up, bitch. Let's go." Dean shoved his brother forward with playful force.

The brothers walked on, content in their moment.

And clueless as to the dark figure in the shadows just behind them.


	8. Chapter 8

Being Winchesters, Sam and Dean were normally very highly-tuned at sensing impending danger. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or a combination of that and the fact that it'd been such a perfect day, that they'd nearly forgotten that bad things lurked in dark places. But it wasn't until they both felt the sudden, nipping cold, and saw each others breath as they exhaled, that they froze in place.

With a quick glance at each other, they turned, scanning the alley they were now right in the middle of. Suddenly, parking the Impala at the motel so they could walk back from the bar, seemed a lot less intelligent, now, than it had seemed earlier. They weren't exactly prepared to handle a spirit, tonight.

"Think we should just make a run for it?" Dean quietly asked his brother.

"Dean..." Sam's warning voice had Dean looking over in the direction his younger brother was looking. There in the distance, was what looked like a very beautiful young woman, scantily dressed.

"Is that a hooker?" Dean asked. "Is that a ghost-hooker, Sam?"

"I think maybe it is," Sam replied, looking around for something in which they could defend themselves with. But then, out of no where, he felt himself propelled away from his older brother, flying across the alley until he hit the wall and went crashing to the ground.

"Sam!" Dean shouted, moving to get to him. But he was stopped and thrown against the opposite wall, and he was suddenly surrounded by not just the one, but three spirits. Only, up close, they weren't nearly as beautiful as the one had seemed from a distance. Instead, they looked as their bodies probably did in death; pale, covered in bite marks and bruises and blood...torn clothing and matted hair. Each of them looked the same. Each of them looked thirsty for revenge...

After eerily inspecting their victim, they began their attack. One of them held a sickening hand over Dean's mouth, preventing him from yelling out as the others assaulted him. Biting flesh and clawing at his clothing, more like hungry zombies, than ghosts.

Sam had had the wind knocked out of him and was trying to recover, where he half-lay against the wall. His brother's muffled screams accelerated that process. "Dea-" it came out so quiet, that he knew Dean hadn't heard him. Sam felt helpless as he watched the spirits claw, mercilessly at the older Winchester. He tried to force himself up, kicking over a pipe in the process.

Sam glanced over at the fallen metal, and was suddenly filled with a sense of hope. He sucked in as deep a breath as he was able to manage, and bolted up, grabbing the pipe as he went.

Dean had his eyes clamped shut, now. Through the indescribable pain that was relentlessly raining down on him, all he could think was how unfair it was to Sammy, that he'd die on his birthday...and by a few dead hookers, at that. Embarrassing, is what it was, really. He just hoped Sam would get out of there while he still had a chance.

But then, suddenly everything stopped. He cracked open his eyes to see Sam standing there in front of him, yielding a pipe like a baseball bat. The spirits were gone...for now.

"Sam..." Dean breathed out in relief, but quickly felt his knees begin to buckle.

"Dean!" Sam caught him before he could fall, and held onto him, allowing him to lean heavily into his side. "We need to get out of here, before they come back," he told him, and began assisting him, as quickly as possible, down the alley.

Dean grabbed onto Sam's arm, maybe merely because it was the closest thing to him. Sam had an arm around his brother's back, and another around the front of him to hold him upright. They began their pace, as fast as Dean was able, out of the back end of the alley. It wasn't twenty seconds until they reached the end and heard one of the spirits hissing behind them.

Sam whipped around with the pipe ready in-hand. Dean grunted, but held himself up as best he could. But upon further inspection of the ghostly creatures, it seemed that they were confined to the alley, and couldn't leave that point that Sam and Dean had already crossed over into.

The girl that stood in the middle of the three, suddenly calmed and looked Sam in the eye. "Please...wait..."

"Fat chance, bitch," Dean coughed and pulled on Sam's arm, signaling it was time to leave. Sam furrowed his brow at the girl before following Dean's lead. He turned and they continued away from the alley, Dean nearly stumbling to his face every few feet or so.

"Dean, how bad is it?" Sam asked, knowing that his brother would normally be doing his best to be stoic in a situation like this. But Dean seemed as limp as a rag doll, and shaky as he breathed. "Should I take you to the hospital?"

Dean looked over at him with a glare that Sam knew meant 'no way in Hell'. "I'm fine, Sam," he added, for good measure. "Just flesh wounds..."

"That's why you're having so much trouble walking on your own?" Sam countered.

"Shut up," Dean croaked. Then suddenly he stopped in his tracks, causing Sam to jerk to a stop as well, and turn questioningly to Dean. But as Dean turned away and lurched forward to vomit onto the grass, he understood.

He sympathetically and helplessly stood by until the older Winchester finished. Then he reached out to catch him before he could collapse. Dean's body trembled, and truth be told, that scared Sam. "Let's get you back to the room," he told him as he lead the way. The motel wasn't too much further.

Finally, he maneuvered them into the room and shut and locked the door behind them, before helping Dean to the nearest bed to sit on the edge of it. "'M sorry, Sam," Dean said in a quiet voice.

"For what?" Sam furrowed his brow as he crouched down in front of him with the medical kit he'd just pulled from his bag.

"Ruined your birthday..."

"This wasn't your fault, Dean," he raised his brows.

"S-such a great day, till I h-had us cut up that alley..."

"Dean...this is not your fault. And we did have a great day; it was perfect. Technically, it's not even still my birthday, anymore. See?" he motioned toward the alarm clock beside the bed. "Half-past midnight. I had the best birthday ever, thanks to you. But this day did start out kinda crappy," he smirked.

Dean smiled as best he could, his body shaking as though he were freezing, "Glad you had a g-good birthday, S-Sammy." Dean's breathing had accelerated, Sam realized.

His smirk vanished and he set to work, "Lemme get these clothes off you so I can check the wounds. Some of them are bleeding, I can see," he said as he lifted the lone teeshirt over Dean's head. It was rare that Dean didn't layer his tops, but it had been a terribly humid day. Once Dean's flesh was exposed, Sam's breath caught a bit in his throat. It looked a lot worse than he'd imagined. Not that he hadn't patched up some nasty wounds in their lifetime... But this was kind of in a class all its own.

The bite marks made Sam cringe to look at; bruises already forming under the skin, and most of them torn through and bleeding out. The scratches were less severe, but seemed to fill in any parts of his skin that hadn't been bitten on his torso. In the minute or less the spirits had had their way with him, they'd managed to make at least forty chomps into his flesh...

Sam tried to push his nausea to the side, and set to work. "I'm gonna go get a wet washcloth," he told him. "Don't move, okay? You're not gonna fall over, are you?"

"'M fine," Dean insisted.

"Right," Sam replied. He stood and made quick work of fetching several washcloths, all wetted down with hot water. Dean's eyes were slipping closed by the time he returned. "Hey, stay with me for a minute, Dean," Sam insisted.

Dean's eyes flew open. "'M tired, Sam," he told him. "An' 'm cold..." his body shook as if to prove the point.

"Just...let me clean you up. Then you can go to sleep. Looks like everything's on the front of you, anyway, so just go ahead and lie back," he told him, helping Dean by guiding him by the shoulders to lay so that his head found the pillow.

Sam got to work, cleaning the bloody wounds, using antiseptic and antibiotic ointment where necessary. Dean was silent for the most part. Once he was bandaged up, Sam gave him a couple pain killers and moved to pull off Dean's boots, before cleaning up the mess he'd made with the supplies.

When he turned back to look at his older brother, Sam felt a pang of worry in his chest. Dean was shivering, even more so, now, and curling up into himself on his side. "Dean?" Sam rounded the bed.

"C'ld, S'mmy..."

Sam reached out to feel his forehead, thinking maybe he had a fever. But to his surprise, Dean actually felt ice cold. "What the hell? Dean, you seriously are like ice..."

"S'what I said," Dean replied, sleepily.

"I need to call Bobby," Sam told him as he pulled the blankets up over his brother, tucking them around him. "This must be some kinda...ghost sickness or something."

"Don' wan' ghos' sickness 'gain, S'mmy. Wasn' fun..."

"It'll be okay," Sam assured him, tearing the blanket from his own bed and draping that over him as well. "This isn't the same thing, whatever it is. We'll figure it out..." Thing was, Sam wasn't sure who he was trying to convince more; Dean, or himself...


	9. Chapter 9

"Hookers?" Bobby repeated as he leaned back in his chair at his desk, holding the reciever to his ear.

"Scantily dressed women..." Sam said from the other line, "Who may or may not have been selling themselves for money, at the time of their death...yes."

"And they had the same marks on 'em as they gave Dean?"

"As far as I could tell."

"Was there any way their bodies could still be in that alley?"

"From what I saw, other than a dumpster, it doesn't seem like there's any place they could be."

"Ya said Dean's cold," Bobby glanced around in thought. "If he's experiencing what they did before death, it's possible that the place they spent their final moments, was in some place cold."

"What happens if I don't find it?"

Bobby ran a weary hand down his face and took a breath, "Odds are, whatever they did to Dean, could be their misdirected revenge on whoever did this to them. Depending on how long it took them to die, however it was that they died, I'd have to assume that that's how long Dean's got..."

"Are you tell-" Sam paused, and Bobby heard a rustling sound on the other line, before what sounded like a door closing, and Sam continued in a quieter voice, "Are you telling me that Dean could die, Bobby?"

"I can come out there and help you..."

"It's like fourteen-hundred miles, Bobby. It'd take a straight day for you to get here, and we don't know that he's got that long."

"I can fly out there..." Bobby could almost hear the thick uncertainty and waves of panic coming through the phone line. "Look, Sam... Those things are tethered to that alley. You go in, you go prepared, this time; especially since you're goin' alone. Ya might be able to spot somethin' without havin' to step into the alley at all. Maybe you can find it before I get in, then we'll go take care of it."

Sam was silent for a moment, but eventually replied, "Okay."

"If I've got anyone out that way, I'll see if I can't send 'em by. I know you don't wanna leave Dean by himself, and I don't feel right about you goin' out there by yourself, either."

"I gotta go, Bobby," he said, suddenly. "Let me know, okay?"

"Sure, son. And uh...happy birthday...for what it's worth."

"Thanks. Night, Bobby..." The other line went dead. Bobby hung the receiver on its cradle before slumping back in the chair again with a heavy sigh. It was late, and calls needed to be made. He'd been a bit worried about Sam, before all of this. But now, they had even more piled on their plates. There was more than one reason Bobby was worried for the younger Winchester, now. And it didn't look like there was much he could do, sitting at his desk...24 driving hours away from his surrogate sons...

11 00 11 00 11

Sam quickly ended the call when he realized Dean was still fairly violently shivering under the multiple layers of covers. Dropping the phone on his own bed, he made his way to his brother's bedside. "Dean?" The only reply he received was a short grunt; seemingly the only thing he could respond with. "Dean, I'm not sure what to do..." he hesitated, then thought to climb under the covers beside him.

"S-s-so c-c'ld, S-Sam-my..." Dean stuttered out in a whisper.

"I know," Sam pulled Dean flush against him and wrapped his arms around his shaking body. His own body shivered at the sensation of pure cold that seeped quickly through his own layers of clothing. "Gonna try and warm you up," he told him, "Then go out and find the remains and get rid of them. That'll fix this..."

"Can't...g-go 'lone, S'my," he replied, burrowing against his brother, seeking the warmth.

"Don't really have much of a choice, now do I?" he let out a light snicker.

"M-m'nt m-me," Dean replied. "Don't w'nna g-go...'lone..."

Sam flinched at the sudden realization of what his brother was saying. He thought he was dying? "You're not goin' anywhere, Dean," he reassured him. "I'm gonna figure this out." But he could feel the change in breathing pattern in his older brother. He was panicking.

"Sam..."

"You're gonna be fine, Dean!" he pressed.

"Sam,...can't...can't breathe..."

Sam pulled away just as Dean started taking struggled gasps for air; panic becoming more and more evident on his face. "Dean?" he bolted upright in an instant, throwing the blankets off of Dean. He tried not to panic as he turned Dean onto his back. "What do you mean, you can't breathe?" he asked as he checked the pulse at Dean's neck.

"Can't get...'nuff air," he explained between breaths. "'S like I'm...suf'cating..."

Sam's eyes darted around the air between them, and he swallowed down the fear that was threatening to spill over. "I'm gonna go find the remains," he said, standing from the bed.

"No-"

"Dean, you could die!"

"'xactly," he breathed. "No time..."

"If I leave now, I might be able to..."

"Don' wanna...die 'lone, S'mmy," Dean begged. "Please... You won't...make it. An' I'll die...alone...an' then...so will you..."

Sam hesitated; his breaths coming as fast as Dean's, but for a completely different reason. Part of him knew Dean was right. But the other part was screaming at him to do something; anything. Anything but stay there and...

"Please, Sam..." Dean's voice pulled Sam's eyes back to him.

"I don't wanna watch you die, Dean," he told him, his eyes stinging. "Not if there's a chance that I might be able to save you..."

"And get your...self killed...in the process?"

"Dean-"

"No, Sam!" his breath quickened with his panic. "It'd take...a miracle...for you to...find them..."

Sam shook his head, defiantly, trying to find some way to convince him that he could do this."A miracle..." the thought crossed his mind. New hope graced his features. "Castiel!" he shouted. "Dean, you gotta call him!"

"He's...finding...out...'bout...wall..."

"Castiel, we need you!" Sam ignored his brother's ridiculous argument. "It's an emergency! Life and death! Dean's in trouble, Cas!"

There were several long seconds that passed. Enough to make the worry reignite in Sam's heart. But then he heard the flap of wings behind him. "What's happened?" the angel asked.

"Ghost sickness," Sam tried to give the short version. "We need to find the remains...Dean could die!"

"Where? Where did this happen?" Cas asked as he approached the side of the bed. Dean's eyes were heavy-lidded, now; seeming less aware of his surroundings.

"Couple blocks west from here; alley way," Sam told him. Without warning, Castiel was suddenly gone. Sam's eyes refocused on his brother, who had suddenly gotten a lot quieter. He rushed to Dean's side when he saw how still he'd become. "Dean?" he slid into the bed beside him and grabbed his shoulder.

Sam could only make out very small breath sounds wheezing from his brother's chest. Dean's eyes were unfocused and lethargic. Sam felt a horrid feeling of dread wash over him, and he pulled Dean up to lay back against his chest, as he leaned back on the headboard. He held onto him, perhaps in an attempt to give some of his own strength to Dean.

"It's gonna be okay, Dean," his voice cracked. "Everything's gonna be okay..."

He hoped that he was right...

What seemed like hours later, but was actually less than a minute, Dean suddenly sucked in a deep breath; his body stiffening from it's previously slackened state, and his hands gripping onto his brother's legs on either side of him, perhaps to ground himself.

"Dean?"

"Sammy?" he grounded out.

Then Castiel was suddenly before them at the edge of the bed...


	10. Chapter 10

"The remains have been disintegrated," the angel told them.

"Dean, are you okay?" Sam asked, still slightly afraid to let go of his hold on him.

"Think so," Dean replied, catching his breath. "Not cold anymore." Sam looked back up at Castiel and gave him a small nod of appreciation. Once Dean collected his bearings, he felt a bit awkward. "Dude," he squirmed, "You can let go of me, now..."

"Sorry," Sam released him and untangled himself from behind Dean, moving to stand beside the bed. "You're sure you're okay?"

"Yeah," Dean looked down at himself. "I look like crap, though... How'm I gonna explain all this to the ladies?" he smirked. Then he looked up at Castiel, who seemed slightly confused by the subject. "Thank you, Cas," Dean told him, in a more serious tone.

"You're welcome."

"Did you find out anything?"

The angel's eyes darted for a moment, before realizing what he was talking about, then met Dean's again. "Only that what's happened cannot be reversed," he explained. "Not without the possibility of causing even more damage to the wall."

"So what, we're supposed to just wing it from here on out?" Dean pushed himself back against the headboard, wincing slightly at the pain from his injuries. "Hope we don't strike a nerve that sets him off into another seizure?"

"I don't believe that will happen again, Dean," Castiel defended. "What happened recently, was because you dug too deep into the problem. Mere mentioning of something he may not remember, shouldn't set him off. When I told him about his year without a soul, there was no response of that nature."

Sam stood silently as the two argued. His eyes darted about in the air somewhere between them, still in a state of shock after almost losing his brother.

"What if there's something important, like something to do with hunting, that he doesn't remember because of this, huh?" Dean argued. "What are we supposed to do?"

"Research," Sam interjected. The two turned their heads to looks at him, inquisitively. Sam met Dean's eyes. "You quiz me, before each hunt," he explained. "It's not as if we don't have plenty of time driving to them, or sitting back at the motels. Whatever we're up against, you quiz me; make sure I know what to do..."

"And if you don't?" Dean asked.

"Then you tell me. No need to go deeper into it. Like Cas just said, if we don't dig into why I can't remember, then it shouldn't be a problem."

"Yeah, as if you can even help thinkin' too much into things," Dean quipped.

"I don't really have much choice in this, now do I?" Sam said, shortly.

Dean attempted to glare at him, but an involuntary twitch of muscle in his chest sent a shockwave of pain through him, and he clamped his eyes shut, unable to stifle a groan as his hand settled over one of the larger bite marks.

"Dean!" Sam was quickly at his side on the bed again; a hand on Dean's back, and the other on his arm. If Dean had had the strength in that moment, he'd have shrugged him off. Sam looked to the angel, "Cas, can you fix him?"

Castiel had already begun to approach the other side of the bed, before Sam had even spoken. "Of course," he replied, reaching a hand just a bit above Dean's, on his chest.

Within moments, Dean felt the pain disappear, and he let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding in. "Thanks," he said in almost a whisper. "Wasn't as bad as not bein' able to breathe. But it was startin' to get on my nerves."

"Some of those bites were deep enough that they'd bruised your ribs, Dean," Castiel stated. "You understate your own pain, most times. It often makes me wonder why..."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Dean replied, pushing off of the bed and heading toward the kitchenette to grab himself a beer from the fridge. Sam still sat on the edge of the bed, watching him, curiously. He knew that his older brother, most of the time, hid his emotional pain from him. But physical? "So we're just gonna wing this, basically," Dean said as he walked back toward them, handing Sam one of the beers he held in his hand. "That's what you're sayin', ain't it, Cas?"

"If there was any other way..."

"I guess I'm just a little worried," Dean interrupted the angel, "I mean, how long will it be before somethin' happens? I feel like there's this...ticking time-bomb in his head," he said; his eyes darting around somewhere in the air between the three of them as he sank down on the other mattress across from Sam. "Like it could go off at any time..."

Sam's eyebrows crinkled to almost meet in the middle, worried more about his brother's worries, than the subject at hand.

"There was a time," Castiel narrowed his eyes as he spoke to the eldest brother, "That you longed for even one more day with your brother." Dean looked down at the floor, avoiding both sets of eyes, yet wondering how on Earth Castiel would've known such things. "You think that I didn't hear your prayers?" Dean's head picked up a little, but he still didn't look up at him. "And do you think that I didn't long to answer them?"

Instant feelings of guilt washed over Dean, at the angel's words. "I...wish that I had more answers for you both," Castiel let out a defeated sigh. Both men looked up at him, noting the rare helpless look on the angel's face. "All I can promise you is that I'll do my best to find a way to help, if there is help to be found." Castiel picked his head up, glancing at them both. "But for now, I must go. I'm needed elsewhere. If you should need me...for anything that...I can be useful for..."

Dean stood and made his way over to him, setting his beer down on the table before putting a hand on the angel's shoulder, "You helped, tonight, Cas," he reassured him. "You always help us. I'm sorry if I made you feel like I...like we don't appreciate you. I'm just... I'm worried about Sam, is all. What happened...it wasn't your fault. You didn't know."

Castiel looked at him with regret, guilt and sadness that he shouldn't have been able to feel. "It is my fault, Dean," he thought. "If only you knew...If you knew why... You'd never forgive me..." With that last thought, the angel vanished, leaving them with only the soft sound of fluttering wings.

Dean's hand dropped, unceremoniously, from where it had been on Cas's shoulder, and he stumbled slightly backward at the sudden departure. He turned toward Sam, who seemed preoccupied with a loose thread on the cheap motel comforter. Then he picked up his beer and made his way back to sit on the mattress.

Sam looked at him as he sat, "You don't have to worry about me, Dean," he told him, softly.

"It's my job, Sammy," he replied, attempting to sound lighthearted.

"I shouldn't be your job," he retorted. "I should be your brother." Something unrecognizable flashed over Dean's face for a moment. "I mean...you heard what he said. Whatever time I have left..." his brows rose, "I'm not even supposed to be here. I made the choice to jump into the pit, Dean. The fact that I'm here...that I'm not plagued with what happened down there... Every day I get, is one I'm more that grateful for. I wouldn't have any of them, if it wasn't for what you did to get me outta there. But you can't spend the rest of our time together, worrying about when it's gonna end. And we can't keep searching and hoping for a fix for what's up here," he pointed to his head. "'Cause that's the one thing I don't think we could ever change." He gave a small smile at the thought, "If we could, I'm pretty sure we'd both be a hell of a lot better adjusted."

Dean's face relaxed some, and after a moment or two, the corner of his mouth turned up and he shook his head. But he still found it difficult to find any words to say.

Sam took in a breath and let it out, "Well...I dunno about you, but I've had more than enough of the Grand Canyon," he said as he kicked off his shoes and propped his legs up on the bed. "What say we get some sleep, then find a hunt and get the hell outta here in the morning?"

Dean did smile at that, "Sounds great, Sammy. I'm beat," he pulled off his boots and kicked back on his own bed. Once the lights were out, Dean stared up at the shadows on the ceiling as he thought. "Hey, Sam?"

"Yeah?"

There were a few long moments of silence, before Dean replied, "I love you..." "Just in case..."

This was followed by another few long moments of silence. "Uh...Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"We don't say that every night, do we?" Sam asked, a slight grin playing on his face that Dean couldn't see in this dark. But the silence that followed, made him start to wonder, and the grin slowly slipped away.

Suddenly, Sam was hit in the face with a pillow that'd been slung at him from the other bed, followed by a grunted, "Bitch..." from his brother.

Sam's smile returned, and he threw the pillow back, "Jerk."

Dean grabbed the pillow and turned onto his side facing away from his brother, a grin painting his own face, happy knowing that the important things hadn't been stuck on the wrong side of the wall.

Both of them settled in to sleep, thinking about what might lie ahead for them, and knowing that as long as they had each other, it would be okay. Dean couldn't allow himself to think about what would happen at the end of Sam's road. The end of Sam's, would mean the end of his. Of course he wouldn't stop worrying about his little brother. It wasn't just his job...it wasn't an obligation. He needed to protect Sammy...he had to. He wouldn't have it any other way. And if it came down to it, if Sam became a drooling mess someday, then he'd still be with him, taking care of him. The rest of his days would be spent finding a way to fix him, regardless whether anyone thought there was one to find, or not.

"Hey, Dean?"

"Hm?"

"...I love you, too," Sam told him, quietly, and with no hint of sarcasm behind it.

As much as Dean loathed touchy-feely chick-flick moments, this one was...actually kinda nice. Though, he'd never admit that to Sam. "G'night, Sam," he told him, sleepily.

"Night, Dean..."

~Fin~


End file.
